


the recruit

by ictus



Category: DCU (Comics), Event Leviathan (DCU Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Conflict, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ictus/pseuds/ictus
Summary: When Jason is framed for a crime he didn't commit, the one man who believes him is not the man he expected.
Relationships: Jason Todd/Vic Sage
Comments: 11
Kudos: 26
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 6





	the recruit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Panny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Panny/gifts).



> Canon note: diverges from Issue #3 of _Event Leviathan_ and dovetails with _Leviathan Dawn_ (for a primer on this series, see the end notes). 
> 
> Panny, when I read your prompt for this pairing, I couldn't help but think of how well Helena's situation in _Cry For Blood_ mirrors Jason's in _Event Leviathan._ I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> With profound thanks to my beta asuralucier.

Jason jumps.

With what feels like half the Justice League on his tail—Batman, Robin, hell even the goddamn _Plastic Man_ , he jumps.

It’s a 250 foot drop to the pavement below, certain death for anyone who isn’t Bat-trained or superpowered. Jason qualifies as the former, but even so, falling to his death would be preferable to weathering any further veiled accusations:

_“Where’s Batgirl?”_

_“Where is Amanda Waller?”_

_“To be fair Jason, I don’t think you_ know _you are doing any of this.”_

But more than the accusations, there’s one question that echoes in Jason’s mind. One that he can’t quite shake. Even as he destroys Lois Lane’s cell phone, deflects GA’s arrow, and grapples with Robin mid-fall, he can’t help but fixate on that one particular question:

_“Why?”_

*

Jason makes it three blocks before he realises he’s being tailed.

Soaking wet and stinking of the dumpster he’d landed in, Jason’s more or less hit his bullshit quota for one night—and that’s not even factoring in the whole _betrayed by his only family_ thing. So when the shadows seem a little darker than they should be, when there’s the slightest hint of movement in his peripheral vision, he’s in no mood to play ball.

“If you’re going for the whole brooding in the shadows act,” he calls out. “I should warn you: I’ve had practice.”

To their credit, whoever it is doesn’t flinch. In fact, they’re still for so long that Jason half-considers that he might actually be talking to a dark corner in an otherwise deserted alley. But after a moment they emerge from the shadows, and for one damning second Jason’s gripped by disappointment, because he was so sure—it _should_ be Bruce, but—

“And here I thought I’d had you beat,” Question says with a tip of his fedora. He’s as faceless as ever so Jason can’t see his wry smile, but he can hear it in his voice, which is infinitely more grating.

“You’d have to do better than that,” Jason says, letting his derision come through in his tone. He didn’t manage to work out all his frustration when he was fighting off the League earlier, and there’s a part of him that would love to see the Question on the wrong end of his katana. “What, were you hoping I’d catch you?”

“I could ask you the same question, Red Hood. Or would you rather I call you Jason Todd?”

Jason’s hand twitches, reaching for his crowbar in what’s become a well-honed reflex. He suppresses it, but only just. The Question is—by contrast—impassive as ever, standing tall in his trench coat, and looking like something straight of a film noir. There’s no doubt in Jason’s mind that he’s trying to provoke a reaction, is expecting Jason to rise to the taunt, and Jason will be damned if he gives him the satisfaction.

So instead he says, as neutrally as he can manage, “Jason Todd died in an explosion in 1985.”

“Not everyone who dies stays dead. I know that as well as you do.”

Huh. Cryptic. “Sorry, was that a question?” Jason asks. “I thought that was your schtick, right?”

“You can deflect all you want,” Question says, taking another step forward. The streetlight casts his face into sharp relief, yet Jason can only make out the bridge of his nose, the ridges of his cheekbones. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you are who you are.”

“And what, I’m supposed to be intimidated by this? Impressed?” Jason’s hyperaware of every weapon he’s carrying—the guns in their holsters, the knives in his belt—and it takes every ounce of self-control not to grab one and point it straight at the Question’s not-face. “If Leviathan really has taken down the world’s leading intelligence agencies—we’re talking D.E.O, Spyral, A.R.G.U.S—then they have everything on us. All of our connections, all our secrets, all our identities. Come tomorrow, the news that Bruce Wayne’s long-dead son is the infamous Red Hood won’t be on the front page. Hell it’ll barely make page ten.”

The Question takes another step forward. “If Leviathan really has taken down the world’s leading intelligence agencies, then we’ll have bigger problems than that.”

His voice is heavy with insinuation, and Jason’s curious despite himself. The Question has inched his way into Jason’s personal space, well within striking range, and it’s enough to send a spike of adrenaline through Jason’s veins, enough to push him in the direction of something daring.

So Jason just shrugs, perfectly nonchalant, and says, “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Question repeats. It’s amazing how his tone so clearly conveys the image of an arched eyebrow. “You’re the prime suspect in an attack that has killed hundreds, possibly thousands. Your ‘maybe’ doesn’t exactly convince me of your innocence.”

Jason barks out a laugh. His hand has found the hilt of a knife, and he knows he’s giving himself away, but he can’t help it. “People will always assume what they want about you, regardless of what you say. And in my experience, they tend to assume the worst.”

“That’s quite the chip you’ve got on your shoulder.”

“It’s well-earned, too,” Jason agrees. “But go on, then. Humour me. What do _you_ think?”

The Question tilts his head, causing the shadows to shift across his face. After a long moment he says, “I think there is good. And there is evil.” He takes another step forward. “And if you’re unsure which side you’re on, chances are that it’s probably the wrong one.”

Jason snorts. “Spare me the morality lecture—I’ve heard it all before.”

It’s not easy to walk away from a guy like this on a night like this, but Jason’s been done with this conversation before it’d even started. He’s barely taken a step before the Question is heading him off, blocking his path.

“We’re not done here,” Question says, forcing himself back into Jason’s personal space. It’s an intimidation tactic, and an effective one at that. But Jason would sooner fight his way _through_ the Question than concede ground to him. Jason’s grip has gone white on the hilt of his knife, every one of his muscles coiled for a fight. If the Question notices, he doesn’t give anything away.

“Oh we’re not?”

“On the roof, I asked you a question. Now _you_ humour me. Why?” Question asks.

“Why did I do it? I already told you that’s the wrong question.”

“Why does Leviathan want us to believe you did it?”

Jason huffs out a breath. The Question is probably about as skilled a fighter as anyone else in their business, but Jason’s about 95% sure the guy’s not carrying, and 98% sure he wouldn’t pull the trigger even if he were. Jason, on the other hand, has no such qualms. This would be a guaranteed victory for him.

But fighting the Question seems—predictable. It’s what Bruce would expect of him. Another black mark against his name on a day when Jason can’t afford another strike.

So he releases the knife, settles for crossing his arms across his chest. “I was wondering that on the way down,” Jason says, because what else is there to do but answer the question? “They did it because it should have been me. Because I’m the perfect suspect. Because I’ve lost sleep running numbers in my head, calculating how the measured response to criminals is exactly what allows them to thrive. And the thing is—Batman _knows_ this. You heard Robin: the tech, the anarchy—all of this is my brand. And Leviathan knows that if we suspect each other, we’ll sooner eat ourselves alive than—”

“—go after the real culprit,” Question finishes.

Jason smiles behind his mask. “Exactly. _Now_ I think we’re done,” Jason adds, shouldering past him. The Question drops into a defensive stance, but makes no attempt at retaliation. Disappointing.

Jason’s made it about halfway out of the alley before the Question calls out, “You know, I don’t think you have a single friend left in this town right now.” 

“Still don’t,” Jason says, then tosses a shuriken at him to underscore his point.

*

Three days later, Jason arrives home to find that his safehouse has been compromised.

The security has been disabled, but not triggered, which means that whoever broke in knew exactly what to expect. The system was designed by Batgirl and is borderline unhackable, which means this is either a family visit, or whoever’s tracked Jason down _really_ knows their shit.

Jason has two options. The smart thing would be to flee, to seek refuge in any one of the safehouses or boltholes he has set up around the city, check the feeds, set up additional surveillance, and go from there. The slightly-less-smart-but-infinitely-more-satisfying option is to disregard whatever threat the intruder poses, and charge in guns blazing in the hopes of catching the culprit red-handed.

Jason has never exactly been risk averse, and he’s never taken kindly to people who cross him, either. So he draws a gun from his holster, clicks off the safety, and quietly lets himself in.

The door is unlocked, as expected. What Jason _hadn’t_ expected was to come face to face with his intruder the second he steps through the door.

…Or perhaps face to face is the wrong expression.

“Nice place you’ve got here. Cosy.”

The Question doesn’t look at all perturbed by the fact that Jason has him at gunpoint, aiming the muzzle straight at his chest. Although, it’s difficult to tell anything with his perfectly blank face.

“Thanks,” Jason says, shutting the door behind him one-handed, not letting his aim falter for a second. “Now I’m going to have to burn it.”

“Promise I won’t tell,” Question says as Jason inches into the room, keeping his gun trained on him. “You’re not Leviathan,” Question says conversationally, holding up a copy of yesterday’s paper. The words _LEVIATHAN REVEALED_ are printed in bold across the front page, accompanied by Mark Shaw’s photograph and Lois Lane’s byline.

“Apparently not,” Jason says, finally lowering his gun. “It was nice of you to come by and apologise in person, though.”

Now that the initial surprise has worn off, the question has shifted from _who_ to _why_. And yeah, Jason wants answers. But he’s not about to play the Question’s game to get them. So, he remains impassive. He pushes past the Question and begins his regular post-patrol routine. Disarming himself, mostly. He starts with his guns: checks the safety, ejects the clips, and lays them on the table to be cleaned. Next come the knives—or some of them, at least. He might as well remove his mask, considering the Question has already ID’d him. Then it’s his katana.

The Question waits him out, regarding him in silence, clearly expecting Jason to be the first to break. Until—

“A crowbar,” Question says as Jason lays it on the table alongside his guns. “Seems a little—”

“Efficient?”

“Inelegant, I was going to say.” The Question steps closer, testing the boundaries. “For someone of your training,” he clarifies, really driving home the backhanded compliment. “It seems as though you’re holding onto your past.”

Jason grits his teeth, pulling yet a another knife off his person, and determinedly avoiding eye contact. The Question is trying to catch Jason off-guard, is trying to needle his way under Jason’s skin. Yeah, he knows the Red Hood’s ID. And yeah, he knows how Jason died. But that doesn’t mean the Question knows _him._

“What can I say, I’m a nostalgic guy,” Jason says in a voice of forced calm, still not looking up.

In Jason’s peripheral vision, the Question takes another step closer. Now within arm’s reach, he says, “Let me tell you a story, Jason. Once upon a time, a wise man dreamed of a butterfly—”

Jason snaps. He grabs a fistful of the Question’s lapels in one hand and a knife in the other. A second later he has the Question pinned to the wall with a knife at his throat, the tip pointed right at his jugular.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Jason hears himself shout, and _shit_. So much for playing it cool. 

The Question, by contrast, seems completely unaffected, not even trying to fight Jason’s grip. Jason exerts the smallest pressure on the blade, just enough for him to feel the sting of it, and is gratified when the Question tilts his head back, exposing more of his throat.

And yet, when the Question next speaks, his voice is perfectly even. “I have a proposition for you.”

“No,” Jason snaps.

“You don’t even want to hear what it is?”

“Doesn’t matter what it is, the answer’s still no.”

“Jason, listen—”

“No, _you_ listen,” Jason says, tightening his grip on the Question’s shirt. “You accuse me of being an international terrorist. You chase me off the edge of a building, you break into my house, all the while spouting a bunch of philosophical bullshit and dropping cryptic hints about my past. And then you expect me to play nice? You must be a pretty lousy detective if you thought that would work. Fuck, I mean, I don’t even know who you are, and now _you_ have a proposition for me?”

“My name is Vic Sage,” Question says. Smoothly, as if they were exchanging pleasantries at one of the stuffy galas Jason attended as a kid. Of all the things Jason had expected, the Question giving up his ID wasn’t one of them.

“Sage, huh?” Jason says, stalling. “That’s a little on the nose.”

Sage ignores the jibe, says, “I’m going to reach for something on my belt. It’s to disengage the mask,” he adds hastily in response to Jason’s narrowed eyes. Sage raises both his hands, palms-up in surrender, and when Jason doesn’t slash his throat, he takes it as implicit permission to lower his hand to his belt buckle. The second he connects, his face is engulfed in smoke, and fuck, what was Jason thinking, removing his own mask?

But the smoke only lingers for a second, and it doesn’t seem toxic given that neither of them have asphyxiated. As it clears, Sage peels off his mask and reveals his true face.

Jason’s first thought is that Sage is younger than he’d assumed. His second thought is, _what is it with me and redheads?_ Because yeah, Sage is attractive—handsome, even. The kind of guy you see on commercial TV or subway billboards. Perfect teeth and bright blue eyes, and the kind of cheekbones that look like they were carved out of marble.

That’s what Jason thinks. What Jason says is, “Cool party trick.”

“What can I say?” Sage says, unperturbed. “It beats a hockey mask. Now are we going to talk, or are you going to stab me?”

Jason shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Sage makes a face, somewhere between a frown and a grimace. “Yeah, that’s not going to work for me.”

Jason blinks, and a second later, Sage has grabbed his bicep, pressing his thumb into the pressure point. Jason’s hand spasms, the knife falling to the floor with a clatter, and before Jason can dive for it Sage has already kicked it across the room.

For a long moment, the two of them stare at the knife, each of them waiting on the other. And really, it’s not as if Jason doesn’t have a whole arsenal spread out on the table—and that’s not even counting the damage Jason can do with his bare hands. So it’s not like he even needs the knife, but—

But a part of him is curious. A part of him wants to know what was so important that Sage tracked him down and revealed his identity. So Jason says, “I guess that leaves us with the first option, then. Talk,” he adds, crossing the room to sink onto the threadbare couch. If he has to contend with intruders in his home, he might as well be comfortable.

Sage hesitates, probably surprised Jason caved so easily. He scans the apartment again as if Jason has the place booby trapped, clearly loath to let his guard down. But eventually, he acquiesces.

“Leviathan may be unmasked, but he’s no less of a threat to us,” Sage begins, and Jason has to bite back a laugh as he wonders how many times Sage has rehearsed this. “A team is being assembled to launch a direct assault on him and his followers. Detectives, crimefighters.” A beat. “Among them is Talia al Ghul.”

Jason conceals his surprise with a shrug. “So?”

“You know Talia, don’t you?”

Jason snorts. Now _that’s_ a question. “In a manner of speaking,” he says eventually.

“Well, I don’t trust her.”

Jason cocks an eyebrow. “Wise. Sage, even. She’s an untrustworthy person.”

“But you trust her,” Sage presses.

“I—” Jason breaks off. Talia is the reason he’s still alive, the reason he’s whole and (mostly) sane. But trust is another matter entirely. Hell, Jason can count on one hand the number of people he actually trusts, and none of them carry the surname _al Ghul_.

“I trust her to pursue her best interests,” Jason says finally. “If your interests align with hers, then you can work with her. And if they don’t, well. The only thing you can trust is that she won’t show you any mercy.”

Sage is quiet for a long time, considering. Then—

“I want you to join our team.”

Jason laughs, the sound bursting free before he can stop himself. “You mean the same team that chased me off the edge of a building? Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“As Leviathan’s creator, Talia is integral to our plan,” Sage continues, undeterred. “But I need someone who can handle her, someone who knows how she operates.”

“And what, Batman and Robin didn’t return your call? You know Robin’s her son, right?”

Something indecipherable flits across Sage’s face, something too quick to catch. Jason gets the feeling that he’s scratching at the surface of something, that there’s a deeper truth buried just out of reach.

“I didn’t ask them,” Sage says eventually. “I don’t—I thought you would be better suited to the team.”

Huh. Interesting. There’s something Sage is concealing here, and Jason files it away for later. For now, he says, “So you want me to babysit a terrorist? Not exactly the most glamourous gig I’ve ever had.”

Sage frowns. “You’re not taking this seriously.”

“Oh no, I’m taking it _plenty_ serious.”

For the first time, Jason thinks he sees frustration, _true_ frustration on Sage’s features. Good, they’re finally getting somewhere.

“Right. Okay, sure, I get it,” Sage is saying. “You have a shitty childhood, you get knocked around and beaten down. I know what that’s like.”

Jason’s on his feet before he even realises he’s stood up. “The fuck do you know about my childho—”

“And then you’re raised by Batman, which can’t have been easy.”

“Oh, you don’t even know the _half_ of it—”

“But you can’t let your anger cloud your vision,” Sage continues, raising his voice above Jason’s. “Look, I know what it’s like to live in a city like Gotham. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re fighting a losing battle against evil itself. I know what it’s like to know the world through violence and rage—”

“Let me guess: ‘you and I aren’t so different after all?’” Jason says, crossing his arms across his chest. “Thanks, but I’ve heard that one before.”

“But this Leviathan thing?” Sage continues, and he’s shouting now, a wild glint in his eye. “It’s bigger than any of us. Bigger than you, bigger than me. Bigger than the Justice League. We need the best possible team, and if that’s to include Talia al Ghul, then I need someone on our side who can keep an eye on her. I can’t be worried about a wild card when the stakes are this high.”

Sage finally breaks off, breathing hard. The air feels charged somehow, the tension stretched wire-thin. It has Jason itching for a fight or _something_ to relieve some of his frustration, because seriously? Fuck Sage. Fuck Sage for breaking into his house, and fuck him for acting like he _knows_ Jason. Jason longs for any number of the weapons on the table—a blade or a gun or a—

“Here’s my card,” Sage says, and just like that, the moment’s passed. The mask is back in place. Not his physical mask, but that false air of cordiality, that forced politeness. Sage is holding up a card that he’s produced seemingly out of thin air, and leaving it face-down on one of Jason’s side tables. Even from here, Jason can see it has a question mark on the back. Of course.

“I leave for Beijing tomorrow,” Sage continues. “I’m chasing up a lead on some tech that we’ve found. The team will meet in Iron Heights one week from today. I hope to hear from you by then,” he says, touching two fingers to the rim of his fedora.

Jason watches him turn to leave, his brow drawn in a frown. He briefly entertains the idea of attacking Sage while his back’s turned, wonders just how far he’ll have to push to bring out some of the anger that Sage had shown only moments ago.

But there’s something else niggling at the back of Jason’s mind, one last question that he can’t quite shake. Sage has made it all the way to the door before Jason calls out—

“You don’t think I’m one? A wild card, I mean,” Jason clarifies.

Sage freezes, perfectly still. Then, with a slow deliberation, he turns around. His eyes are intent as they scan Jason, as if he can somehow see beyond Jason’s carefully constructed front, beyond the mask he’s carved out for himself.

After what feels like an eternity, Sage finally replies. “No, Jason. I don’t think you are.”

Jason wants to ask him how he knows, how he can be sure. But Sage is already opening the door and stepping over the threshold. A second later, the door closes behind him with a _click_ , leaving Jason alone with his questions.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Event Leviathan_ context: an international terrorist named Leviathan has taken down the world's foremost intelligence agencies, possibly killing thousands in the process. A few members of the Justice League including the Question have banded together in an attempt to uncover Leviathan's identity. Their prime suspect: Jason Todd. The detectives find Jason on a rooftop and attack, and from there it's a battle until they reach the ground. Jason eventually escapes, and this fic picks up from that point. [Here are some relevant panels.](https://imgur.com/a/8UiJA35)
> 
> You can also find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/scansionictus).


End file.
